


Asteism

by englishable



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 16:59:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5673646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/englishable/pseuds/englishable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She should’ve suspected all along, of course. Nobody is naturally gifted with hair like that, especially when they keep it shoved under a helmet all the time. And she might not have been the most regular bather, as a dweller on a desert planet, but Rey knows that men do not naturally smell like fruity shampoo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Asteism

**Author's Note:**

> Someone posted about a Kylo Ren-themed bodywash they found on sale, which (if nothing else) proves you can use Star Wars to market anything, and that compelled me to produce this. I'm so sorry. 
> 
> (The word “asteism” can be defined either as “polite/genteel mockery” or “a back-handed compliment,” although Rey’s usually a bit more upfront than that.)

…

At first, Rey suspects it’s something in the air vents.

Or whatever sort of sterilizing floor polish the droids on this prison block are supplied with, maybe. And the sheets, the sheets get washed and bleached and starched at least once a week, even if nothing will make that polymer-lined mattress in his cell much more comfortable.

Life on Jakku might not have supplied her with an ideal frame of reference, when it comes to personal grooming habits, but Rey still knows perfectly well that men do not naturally smell like a fresh fruit bouquet.

(Sometimes it even clings to her clothes, after she’s finished an audience with him. Honey melon, manta pear, and something sharper that could be a sour variety of apple – then she catches herself sniffing a bit too deeply and scrubs the clothes in scalding hot water.)

But if it’s not the laundry, or the floor, or the ventilation system, then process of elimination leads Rey to only one other possible source.

And finally, as usual, she succumbs to her own semi-suicidal curiosity.

“…Is that your soapI smell, right now?”

Kylo Ren – Ben Solo, really – sits on the bed, which is low enough to the floor that his knees fold up on either side of him. His dark head stays bent over a bowl of soup he hasn’t touched yet.

“That’s classified information,” he answers, dourly. There’s a clinking noise as he stirs the spoon. “I’m not at liberty to discuss it.”

“I should’ve known all along.” Rey leans back in the chair. He’d turned it towards her with one foot when she first arrived. “There’s no possible way your hair could’ve stayed like that under the helmet without considerable assistance.”

“The Dark Side is a pathway to many abilities.” 

He still doesn’t look up at her. 

They’re expected to hold him here until his trial, although General Leia has requested that they relocate him to a cell with windows in the meanwhile: and, clearly, has also given the order for specialized accommodations to be made in the daily ablutions department.

(Really, though –  _fruity fragrance_. Finn is going to absolutely split himself with laughter when he hears this.)

Rey watches him lift a spoonful of soup to his lips. The movement is slow, painstaking, made stiff by hardening scar tissue and newly-knitted broken bones, so she can’t imagine how long it must take him to arrange that pompous hair into its usual smooth, collar-brushing black sweep.

“So when you offered to teach me, that first time,” Rey folds her arms, “you mean you were just talking about the finer details of proper hair care?”

(He doesn’t even blink. If Rey didn’t owe him her life three or four times over, she’d probably make the soup bowl dump itself onto his head: homicidal, pretentious, luscious-haired asshole. ) 

“Yes,” he says, “Of course.” 

…


End file.
